


As Pretty As A Maiden In Spring

by khazadspoon



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Crossdressing, Internalised Homophobia, James Needs To Be Loved And Wanted, M/M, PWP, THE DRESS, but only a little because it's not a big deal when ur cold and horny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 20:03:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16144505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/khazadspoon/pseuds/khazadspoon
Summary: If he had thought of wearing the outfit clothing his frame at that moment a few years ago, he would have scoffed at himself. He would, possibly, even have thrown a tantrum to cover his own shame. But, with nothing to entertain oneself and only guilt and fear and cold to fill one’s thoughts, it wasn’t such a terrible idea to comprehend.----James wears The Dress, Francis finds him. They get naughty.





	As Pretty As A Maiden In Spring

If he had thought of wearing the outfit clothing his frame at that moment a few years ago, he would have scoffed at himself. He would, possibly, even have thrown a tantrum to cover his own shame. But, with nothing to entertain oneself and only guilt and fear and  _ cold  _ to fill one’s thoughts, it wasn’t such a terrible idea to comprehend. 

As the dress fell against his bare skin James realised it was no cheap costume piece. It was softer than any fabric he had ever felt outside of the Orient; expensive and sheer and so deeply coloured his eyes went foggy trying to focus on them in the low lamplight of his berth. It slipped over his fingers as he fussed with the skirts, and sent frissons of joy down his spine as he tightened the laces at the back. He had no corset, no stays or stockings, and he couldn’t ask Bridgens to help him. James tightened them as best he could, strangely determined to have their imprint on his back when he removed the gown later. The small tarnished looking glass caught his eye, and he began to appraise himself. 

His hair was tangled and messy, his skin pale and blemished but James Fitzjames was handsome nonetheless. He brushed his hair into a semblance of order and delicately tucked the locks behind his ears with aching fingers. With a small and satisfied sigh, he ran his hands down the front of his neck and chest, admiring where the lace met his skin. The dress was fashionably low cut, designed to make a woman’s neck look long and elegant and desirable. James reckoned he  _ was  _ desirable, even as gaunt and distressed as he felt most days. He then put his hands on his slim hips, turning this way and that to admire his profile, and smiled wider as the dress made the curve of his back all the more noticeable. 

Lost in his thoughts and his reflection, a veritable Narcissus, he didn’t hear the cabin door slide open and shut. His mind wandered to dancing and wine and fumbling behind curtains, to warm hands and warmer breath, gentle laughter in his ear…

A knock. “James?”

Without thinking, his mind far away and long ago in warmer and simpler days, he hummed admission to enter. 

Later, he would be grateful that it was Francis who found him and not some other crewman. Francis knew the value of discretion and secrecy. But, as he turned and saw the man’s wide eyes and slack-jawed expression, any thought of gratefulness or relief was far from his mind. 

James flushed deep red with shame and embarrassment, dropping the comb in his hand as he gasped, and tears sprang to his eyes. The realisation of just what his fellow captain, his  _ First,  _ was seeing slamming into him like a cannonball. 

“I- Captain, I’m-” he stammered, backed up against the dressing table and swallowed the sudden bile in his throat. 

Instead of rage and disgust as James expected, a soft laugh fell from Francis’ lips. A look of gentle amusement came over Francis’ face as he leaned against the doorjamb. “Entertaining yourself, I see?” He said, voice a much more pleasing sound thanks to the lack of drink and the anger it brought with it. It settled in James’ stomach in a far more distressing way than simply wearing a dress ever could. 

“I would-” he cleared his throat. “I would greatly appreciate if you would not speak of this. Let me change and I’ll be with you in just a moment.” James kept his voice steady somehow and resisted the dual urges to stand to attention and reach up to cover his almost bare chest. 

Francis held up a hand and shook his head. “No need, James. God knows we could all do with some amusement or distraction after… well. Leave it on if it pleases you; it’s certainly the prettiest sight I’ve seen in years.”

James shivered. Something other than shame warmed his cheeks. His ears prickled as the blush spread. It must have been obvious, and James bit his own lip to prevent himself from asking Francis something he would regret. To prevent himself from asking  _ Francis  _ to say something they would both regret. 

But, Francis Crozier was a canny and observant man. He stood up straight, body leaving the resting place against the doorway, and flicked his gaze over the length of James’ dress-clad form. 

“Yes,” he muttered, “truly a sight for sore eyes.” James bit back a whimper. “As pretty as a maiden in spring,” Francis continued in a low and quiet voice, shutting the door behind him. 

There was danger ahead - James wanted to say as such, felt the need to warn Francis of it, but he wanted more to be noticed, to be praised and  _ desired.  _ So, instead of calling a halt to whatever it was that was about to happen, he brushed his hair back again and let out the breath he had been holding. 

“I’m no maiden, I assure you,” he murmured breathlessly. An admission; he had been here before, though admittedly not in a dress. 

Francis made a sound under his breath that rattled through the berth and into James’ bones. He stepped forward and lay a hand on James’ hip, his touch a brand even through the dress. James listed towards him. The hand squeezed before lifting and dragging over his ribs and to his chest, cupping him as though he had breasts. It made his cock twitch between his bare thighs. Francis moved his touch, caressed James’ shoulders and pressed his thumbs over the jut of his collarbones and up to the hollow of his throat. 

“James…” Francis whispered as he stepped closer. He leaned down and pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss to James’ neck. The simple touch made James moan low in his throat. “Beautiful, James.”

The words emboldened him. James reached around the other man’s frame, thicker than his own and  _ oh  _ but to hold someone again-

He gripped onto Francis’ back and leaned into him, tipped his head back to feel more of the kisses travelling up his neck and across his jaw. When their lips met it made his heart ache and pound in his chest, his knees almost buckling as the depth of his longing was revealed only to himself. 

The lengths of their bodies, James’ longer but oh so dainty in comparison to Francis’ own, press together and the breath leaves James in a rush. He feels it leave Francis, too. He feels the desire evident against his thigh and knows Francis must feel the same. And, like a clock ticking, they began to move in rolling motions against one another. Pleasure, dangerous and  _ hot  _ in his belly, drives his hips against Francis’ in an unsteady and desperate rhythm. 

Francis pants against his neck, his hands tight as they gripped at James’ hip and throat, and it’s almost painful but James couldn’t bring himself to say anything even if he’d wanted to. Instead, he turns his face to capture Francis’ mouth in another kiss, this one hotter and wetter than the last, and moans as Francis hastily rucks up the skirts to get a hand around James’ cock. It burns and James wonders if this is where he will end, debauched and desperate as Francis Crozier strokes his cock in a tight and unforgiving grip. He gasped and arched into the touch, his arms thrown over Francis’ shoulders as the man pressed their foreheads together. 

“Yes,” Francis whispered, his voice now hoarse and cracked, “that’s it, James. Show yourself off for me, do what you were born to do.  _ Beautiful _ .”

James came far too quickly. Had he been in England with a lover he would have been apologetic, ashamed at the speed. But, with Francis moaning along with him and holding him steady, he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

Instead, he drew Francis’ soiled hand to his mouth and set about cleaning up his mess. He saw the bob of Francis’ throat, felt the tightening of the man’s grip on his hip, and closed his eyes. The taste was, as with any man’s seed, not entirely pleasant on the tongue. But it was worth it for the way Francis growled his name. The growl became a hastily stifled cry as James sank to his knees. 

“I have more talents than just being  _ beautiful _ , Francis. Let me show you;” the words were not quiet, were not gentle and seductive. They were desperate. He all but begged for permission to tug down Francis’ trousers and underthings, to free the fat length of his cock. The sight of it, red and hard before him, was more satisfying than he had expected. He kissed the tip, hummed in pleasure as Francis ran a shaking hand through his hair, and took a deep steadying breath through his nose. 

The fingers in his hair tightened as he took the cock into his mouth, sucking on it and groaning as he remembered the pleasure one could take from so base an act. He gripped the base and bobbed his head, began to move in earnest. James felt exposed and helpless as the dress slipped down one shoulder, the chill air of the berth hitting his skin and making his nipples draw tight. He leaned back and lapped at the head of Francis’ cock, let the man above him see his flushed cheeks and state of undress as the laces came undone, the skirts pooling about his knees as he ran his hands over the thick meat of Francis’ thighs. 

“Francis,” he said hoarsely, “I want- I want you to-” he broke off with a sigh and put his hands behind his back. He let his mouth fall open and let his tongue hang out, hoping the meaning was clear. 

It was.

Francis made a feral sound and put a hand to James’ cheek. He slipped his cock into James’ mouth and began to move, gently thrusting in and out until his own pleasure began to rise higher. He fucked James’ mouth, eyes fixed firmly on James kneeling below him. James breathed through his nose as best he could, his hands behind his back but twitching to reach out and grip Francis’ hips to drive him deeper, harder,  _ faster _ until there was nothing left in the world but the feel of his First on his tongue. 

“ _ Fuck-”  _ Francis gasped out, pulling back for a moment. James broke his stance and reached out, at last, holding Francis still and urging the man to continue to the end. He looked up, meeting Francis’ eyes and moaning around the hard length between his lips, begging with his eyes and mouth to be filled and used in any way Francis wished to use him. 

When Francis finished, it was with a broken sound. A whimper, low and cracked and the flood of bitter liquid in James’ mouth made his spent cock twitch valiantly under the skirts of his dress.  He swallowed the spend and panted, mouth hanging open as he caught his breath. For the first time since venturing to this frozen North, he felt  _ warm _ . 

Francis helped him up from his position on the floor and straightened the dress, his hands shaking but gentle as they righted the sunken shoulders and brushed creases from the skirts. The captain tucked his own softening cock away and reached out, brushing the curling hair from James’ face in a delicate gesture that tugged at James’ heart. 

“That was an ill-advised distraction,” Francis said lowly. 

“I know.”

He felt sick all of a sudden. And not just because of whatever it was in his bones and joints that kept him up at night. 

“But… not unwelcome. I’ll not hurt you, James, I’ll not disgrace you.”

Relief, stark and sudden, filled him. A grin split his lips, made him look younger than he felt by decades no doubt. “I’m- glad. Will we meet again tomorrow as usual?”

Francis nodded and paused. He seemed to fight with himself, to second guess what he meant to do, before leaning forward and placing a gentle kiss to James’ cheek. 

“Find me, should you need anything like this again,” he said, and smiled lopsidedly. 

James flushed. “That goes both ways, Francis.”

They parted with no other words, and Francis made his way back to his own ship without mentioning why he had come to James in the first place. As he fell against the hard cot that served as his bed, James wondered if there had been a reason at all beyond wanting company. The idea added to the warmth inside him, made it turn slow and simmering and warmed him through the night even after he had shed the dress and lay it carefully over his chair. 


End file.
